


The Insect Collection

by Zanganito



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Beekeeping, Bugs & Insects, Childhood, Entomology, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Insect collecting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanganito/pseuds/Zanganito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets that explore Gil Grissom's love of insects and entomology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why Do You Like Bugs So Much?

_"Why do you like bugs so much?"_

He was asked that question often. Sometimes by co-workers. Sometimes by family. Sometimes by people he barely knew. It was not a question he enjoyed being asked. It instantly put him on the defensive, demanding that he justify what others saw as eccentricity on his part.

There were many different ways in which the seemingly simple question could be asked. Sometimes the tone used was straightforward and matter of fact.

_Grissom flipped through Eva Crane's World History of Beekeeping and Honey Hunting, fully absorbed. The book had arrived in the mail earlier that day. Nick stood in the doorway of Grissom's office, leaning slightly against the frame with a bemused expression on his face. Gil eventually slid the book onto the shelf next to his copy of Holldobler and _ _Wilson_ _'s The Ants, and looked up. Nick shook his head. "Why do you like bugs so much?" he finally asked._

Occasionally the question could be tinged with horror and disgust.

_Grissom bent down near the newly discovered corpse. With his forceps he carefully lifted several fly larvae that were clustered around the edges of the deceased's mouth. He placed them in appropriately labeled plastic vials. Grissom stood up, stepped back, and lifted one of the vials up to get a better look at the larva inside. Grissom smiled slightly as the larva wriggled and tried to burrow down.  He was almost sure that the larva was Calliphora vicina, but he'd have  to look at the spiracles under a scope later to be certain.   When he turned around to leave, he noticed that one of the policewomen had a look of pure revulsion on her face. "Why do you like bugs so much?" she demanded._

And on the very rare occasion the question would actually be asked with genuine curiosity.

_Gil knelt down on the sidewalk and carefully lifted the stag beetle into his hand.  The beetle struggled to clumsily move its large body along Gil’s palm.  When he looked up he saw a young boy staring down at him.  The boy cocked his head to one side and asked, “Why do you like bugs so much, mister?”_

Grissom had no easy answer.

The first reply to come to mind, of course, was the standard scientific answer: "Insects are amazing creatures, and we can learn a lot from observing them." But people never looked entirely satisfied with this answer. _"Oh."_ They would reply as if they understood. But Grissom noted the slight narrowing of their eyes. The second glance when they thought he wasn't looking. He arrived at the conclusion that this behavior meant that the questioner felt somehow cheated by such a scientific answer.

Eventually he realized that most people were not trying to discover some elusive quality that the insect in question possessed. After all, they were viewing the same creature that he was. No, they weren't asking about the bug. The real question was "Why do _you_ like bugs so much?"

In light of this revelation, he often answered, "I just do."

That was close to the truth. But it was still inadequate, unsatisfying, somehow. There were no words that he knew to describe what he felt. He struggled to somehow find a way to convey the true depth of his feelings in terms that the questioner could understand. Not that he really cared what others thought of him. But maybe if he could accurately express his as yet indescribable feelings, other people might be more open to the possibility of viewing insects in a different light. But what words could be used? Whenever he thought about it long enough, all he came up with were a few over-used clichés.

_Time stopped. For a few minutes he would be aware of nothing else. Just himself and the bug. He felt as if he was being drawn into its minute world._

And even then, those clichés were inadequate. And far too wordy to turn into a succinct answer.

Grissom was also aware that the fact that the questioner felt the need to ask such a thing obviously meant that he or she did not share Grissom's feelings. This presented a problem, and it often made him feel as if his perspective of the world was separated from the questioner's by a deep, uncrossable chasm.

Because the truth of the matter was that he had absolutely no idea what _other people_ felt when they looked at a bug.

Their shrill shrieks and looks of contempt puzzled him. And made him wonder just what it was that they saw or felt. What exactly was so terrifying about a cockroach? Didn't they notice how perfectly the wings folded across its back? How the antennae swayed so delicately? How the insect would lift itself up, poised to flee at the slightest disturbance?

Maybe it was just another incomprehensible by-product of cultural conditioning.

True, cockroaches were dirty and could spread diseases. But so could many other animals, including birds. And he had never observed anyone scream and run at the sight of a Cedar Waxwing. Just because something was dangerous did not mean that its beauty could not be appreciated.

And as Grissom thought more about the paradox that was presented, he came to realize that the only logical response to adequately answer such a question would have to come in the form of yet another question.

" _Why do you like bugs so much?" Grissom paused slightly at the question. Then he lowered his glasses down on his nose, so that his eyes could look directly up at the questioner. He stared, firmly and intensely with his blue eyes, never wavering in his show of determination, returning the unspoken challenge as he prepared to meet the spoken one. Then he asked his question:_

" _Why don't you?"_


	2. Bugs Always Win, Part  1

 

_"I learned at a very early age that the bugs always win."_ – Gil Grissom, CSI

 

 

His father had introduced him to the concept of observing nature.  He would sometimes take Gil with him when he had to do field work.  Gil learned that many things could be learned by simply sitting still and watching.  That was when he first noticed the bright orange and black striped bug that had a needle-like proboscis stuck into a leaf of a milkweed plant.

His father then explained the concept of competing for resources.  Plants made sugars and stored them in their leaves.  There were bugs that wanted to eat the sugars.  Some of the plants then made toxins and kept them in their leaves so that the bugs would die if they tried to take the sugar from the plants.  But this only made some of the bugs stronger, and they would specialize in processing the toxin. Or in this particular case, they would incorporate the toxin into their body, making themselves harder for predators to eat.   So plants and insects were fighting?  This was a new concept for Gil.

 

“Who wins?” he asked impulsively.

 

His father just laughed. “It’s not really about winning or losing,” he paused, “but if I had to pick I’d say the insects would win.”

 

Although “nature” seemed serene and tranquil to some people, Gil now knew better.

\---ooo---oooo---

 

There was an ant nest located between his house and Nicole’s.  They would often sit out there for hours, silently watching the ants work.  The ants would move the grains of sand one particle at a time.  Some would leave the nest to look for food. Others would come back with a crumb or dead insect.  Gil often wondered how they knew what needed to be done.  It was amazing.

 

Nicole and Gil performed an experiment one afternoon.  It involved placing piles of cracker crumbs at varying distances from the ant colony.  They decided to put some piles of crumbs _inside_ Nicole’s house, just to see if the ants could travel that far.

 

Soon trails of ants snaked in and out of the house.  Gil noticed that once an ant had established a path, all the other ants followed.  He pointed this out to Nicole, and they decided that the ants must be somehow leaving “signs” for the other ants to follow.

 

A shriek and heavy footfalls in another room alerted Nicole and Gil to the fact that Nicole’s mother had encountered the ants.  In addition to the piles of cracker crumbs, the ants had apparently discovered the sugar bowl in the kitchen.

 

Nicole had been upset when her father poured gasoline on the ant’s nest.  Gil simply watched, observing that not enough gasoline was used to penetrate deep enough to kill the entire colony.  The surviving ants quite logically moved their nest closer to the house where the food had been.

 

It was then that Gil realized that insects and humans also competed for resources.  He wondered who would win.

~o~

 

Some time later Gil observed that one of his neighbors had hired an exterminator to get rid of a wasp’s nest. 

The exterminator drove up in a yellow van that was emblazoned with the slogan _“Don’t let pests BUG you!”_   Gil was intrigued by the concept of such a pun in advertising, and decided to investigate.  He also wanted to see the result of the showdown between the pest exterminator and the wasps.

 

“What are you doing?”  Gil asked as he approached.

 

“Getting rid of these wasps.” He pointed up at the nest on the house. “I’m Randy by the way.”

 

Gil introduced himself and then asked why the wasps needed to be exterminated, since they were obviously useful for keeping the fly population under control.

 

Randy looked surprised for a few minutes, then realization seemed to dawn on him, “You like bugs, huh, kid?”  Randy asked with an ironic grin.

 

Gil nodded.  “Do you?” he asked.

 

Randy just laughed.  “I hate ‘em,”  he said as he readied the chemical to kill the wasps.

 

“You might want to stand back, I’m going to spray some of this chemical in, and them block the opening, but if a few of ‘em get out, they’ll be mad.”

 

Gil stood back.  He wondered if he should inform Randy that it would probably be more logical to try and exterminate the wasps at a time of day when the insects were less active.

 

The wasps buzzed menacingly as Randy approached the nest.  He was fast, inserting the nozzle, spraying the poison and quickly inserting a cotton ball to keep the wasps from coming out before they succumbed to the chemical.  A few of the guard wasps were faster though, emerging before he could block the entrance, and they defended their home with powerful stings as Randy finished his work. 

 

Randy said some words that were not appropriate for a child of Gil’s age to hear while a few of the wasps that had escaped the nest stung him. 

 

A few weeks later Gil noticed that there were more wasps building nests under the eaves of his neighbor’s house.

 

He kept a mental tally from then on, observing the conflict between insects and humans.  Keeping score.

 

His father had been right:  the bugs always won.

 


	3. Bugs Always Win, Part 2

When Grissom was young, some humans proclaimed that they had, once and for all, defeated the bugs.   After years of struggles, they had finally perfected their ultimate weapon.  It was during a time of scientific invincibility.  All of humanity’s problems were on the brink of being solved by the power of chemicals and science laboratories.  This was the future.  All of nature would soon be controlled with a chemical from a laboratory. 

 

A chemical that some said would soon make the study of insects obsolete.  There would be no more need to understand insect behavior or complex ecological interactions.  Any undesired bugs could be instantly killed by the magical colorless crystal.  There would be no more crop losses due to insect damage.  There would be no more mosquitoes to vector diseases such as malaria and yellow fever.  They called this magical chemical DDT.

 

It made Gil think of the milkweed plant that his father had shown him.  The plant had developed toxins to keep insects from feeding on its leaves.  But some of the insects adapted, and in the end the toxins protected them from other predators.  He wondered what this meant for the magical chemical.  Would the bugs finally lose?  Or would some of them become stronger, ultimately using the chemical to protect themselves from their predators?

 

He talked to his father about it once, asking if the chemical would end up like the milkweed plant for the insects it was trying to kill.  His father had only replied that he wished more people thought like Gil.

 

As Gil grew older, the topic became controversial.  Some people claimed that the chemical was harming larger predators that it was never meant to kill.  Some Entomologists pointed out that the insects were beginning to show signs of resistance, and within a short time the chemical would be rendered useless.  Others insisted that the chemical was still doing its job.  At long last humans were on the brink of vanquishing the bugs.  Why stop using such an efficient weapon?

 

 

In the end, the chemical was banned, and new ones were made to take its place.  But Gil noticed that no-one ever tried to claim again that the wonderful powers of a chemical would make studying insects obsolete.

 

The bugs had won again.


	4. Insect Systematics

Gil Grissom had a number of diverse hobbies and interests.  For example, he liked to read books and collect insects.  While in college, his love of books could occasionally start intriguing discussions with a variety of students.  He would often spend time sitting outside the college library, reading a book and watching for insects.  While doing this he occasionally had short conversations with students who majored in subjects other than Entomology.  Take philosophy for example.  He would not normally have much in common with a philosophy major.  But having enjoyed Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, Gil now had common ground on which to base a discussion.

 

He had first pointed out that the insect that Gregor Samsa had turned into was obviously a beetle, not a cockroach.  Then Grissom had argued that turning into a giant beetle was not in itself a bad thing.  It wasn’t a metaphor of what Gregor had become, but of what he could become. Instead of embracing the potential for change, Gregor became disgusted and apathetic.  It was a change that could be beautiful if you looked at or dealt with it in the right way. 

 

The philosophy major was intrigued by Gil’s interpretation. This then brought the discussion around to Gil’s perception of insects.  For once, Gil felt as if he was effectively conveying how he felt about insects.  Perhaps because he had used the discussion of a book as a staring point.

 

And then a gorgeous hover fly landed on a nearby flower.  Gil looked over intently, off-handedly mentioning that it would be a good specimen to add to the collection that he was making for his insect systematics class.

 

He saw the look of horror. The slow realization.  The question: _“If you like bugs so much, how can you kill them?”_   And Grissom had no answer.  Because the ethics of preserving an insect specimen had never occurred to him.  It was natural, something he did matter-of-factly without thinking.  His lack of a ready answer caused some distress.  He continued to mull over all implications of the question in what could only be described as a “moral crisis”.

 

This moral crisis continued through out the afternoon, and eventually coincided with his Insect Systematics class.

 

He was outwardly calm, working on his insect collection just like every other student in the class.  His collection of bugs in their boxes was neatly organized.  Each specimen had a label.  Each box contained a different insect order, and the insects inside were correctly organized by family and genus and neatly lined up in rows.  Gil was outwardly in the middle of pinning and mounting some of the insects that he had caught that morning. But in his thoughts he continued to ponder the implications of the question he had been asked that morning.  _If you like bugs so much, how can you kill them?_

 

It was a valid question.  If Grissom had professed to feel nothing for the insects but cool scientific detachment, the topic would not be so troubling. 

 

Most of the reasons for insect collecting were obvious:  it was important for learning more about Entomology, and it was required for many of his classes.  It was a skill, not easily mastered by some, since it required patience, a steady hand, and neatness. 

 

But it required him to take the life of an insect.  The specimen had to be flexible and pliable in order to be properly preserved.

 

Take this paper wasp for example. Gil carefully inserted a pin through the middle of the thorax.  He slid the wasp up to the correct height, leaving room for the pin to be grasped from the top.  He inserted the pin into a piece of Styrofoam and started placing supporting pins around her.  As the wasp dried, she would harden and become brittle. Her body parts would be forever stuck in whichever position Grissom placed them in.

 

But was it even fair for him to cut the paper wasp’s life short just so he could improve his Entomological skills?   What did it say about him as a person?

 

 

BZZZZZZZ!  Gil’s thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound.  He looked up.  An insect with a curled tail and long snout was being flown in circles in front of his face. 

 

“Hey Gil, do you like my scorpionfly?”

 

Andrew was holding the insect by the pin that stuck out of the center of its body and continued to make it fly around.  Sometimes Andrew could be amusing.  Gil was not in the mood to deal with him right now though. He didn’t want to consider the moral implications of what Andrew was doing.  He doubted Andrew ever did anyway. 

 

“Hey, where did you find that Tachinid fly?” Andrew asked while pointing at Gil’s open box of Order: Diptera.

 

“Don’t you think you should be working on labeling your insects?” Gil asked coldly while reaching out to keep Andrew’s hand away from the impeccably organized insect collection that belonged to Gilbert Grissom.  Andrew could be funny and amusing, but he was also notoriously careless and irresponsible. 

 

Gil moved his hand back towards the wasp he had been working on, but he was distracted, and accidentally brushed a fingertip against the top of one of the insect pins in his box of dipterans.  It was of course, the crane fly’s pin, and the resulting vibration caused one of the insect’s long delicate legs to fall off.

 

Gil frowned in annoyance.

 

“Oh, that happens to me all the time,” Andrew exclaimed happily.  “Their legs are like needles on a Charlie Brown Christmas tree.  You just have to keep gluing them back on.   I’ll go get you some glue.”

 

It was grotesque _.  Even in death the insects would be further mutilated and put back together._  Like nothing more than a model airplane.  Grissom was relieved that at least the philosophy majors of the world didn’t know about that part.  Otherwise he would never have any peace.

 

But was a reaction like Andrew’s in fact more reasonable?  Was it better to just take what happened to the insects at face value, and not agonize over the moral implications?

 

Gil knew that anthropomorphism was a dangerous fallacy that some people indulged in.   You simply could not judge insects and other animals in human terms, because they were not human. As disconcerting as it could be to have a man turn into a giant beetle, it was in fact even more disturbing to try and turn an insect into a man.   Horrendous atrocities would then be brought to light.  Termite colonies relied on “child labor”, some species of ants raided other colonies to make slaves, and spider hawk wasps paralyzed their prey, leaving it to be slowly eaten alive by their young.

 

No.  Trying to think of insects in human terms was simply too horrible to contemplate.  And Gil thought of something.  Maybe, by their association with insects, Entomologists shouldn’t be judged in human terms either.  At least regarding their interactions with insects.  Entomologists were willing to do what many others avoided at all costs.  Beekeepers stoically endured the inevitable stings that came with their line of work, mosquito researchers often personally provided the blood meals for species that only fed on humans.

 

Maybe, the killing of insects for use of specimens was just one of those things that existed, was natural.  It wasn’t proper to think of it or judge it in purely human terms. 

 

-ooo-ooo-

 

He was still occasionally asked that question. It occurred to the more astute, perhaps when observing his butterfly or tarantula specimens mounted on the wall. 

 

_“If you like bugs so much, how can you kill them?”_

And Gil would give them a lecture on the scientific merits of keeping anatomically accurate specimens, both for reference and future identifications.  Because he knew they would never understand the longer answer.

 

And sometimes, when no-one else was around, he would pick one of his flies up by the tip of the pin, and make it soar through the air once more.  Because in the end, what he had really done was give the gift of immortality to an insect whose lifespan was normally less than one week.

 

What fun was it being an Entomologist if he couldn’t at least do that once in a while?


	5. The Fly Farm

Gil often made visits to a body farm.  He sometimes liked to think of it as a fly farm.

 

The way that a body was broken down and consumed by fly larvae told a story.   The eggs were laid and hatched just hours after death, appearing first in the most easily accessible areas: around the eyes, mouth, nose, and any exposed cuts.

 

The adults could be flashy and colorful, metallic green, blue, or copper.  They would flit about the body nervously before settling down to lay their small white eggs on the carcass.

 

The larvae themselves are unimpressive white cylindrical worm-like creatures with mouthparts and breathing tubes that need to be looked at under the microscope in order to differentiate species.

 

A teeming mass, they produce heat as they consume the corpse.   The writhing gives a grotesque living appearance to the body.

 

When the larvae have engorged enough, they drop off to burrow into the ground and pupate.

 

Gil thinks about all this every time he moves to pick up a fly larva with his forceps.  He places it carefully in a vial with the appropriate label.

 

Others may curl their lips in disgust at the smell, but Gil hardly notices it anymore.  All he can see are the larvae.  There may be older ones towards the mouth, there may be several different species.  A few of the larvae may be old enough to have attracted the attention of parasitic wasps.

 

As Gil picks up another larva, he thinks of the many variables that might have affected their development.  Temperature, rain, chemicals present in the body they are feeding on, and exposure all can play a part.  It’s an elaborate puzzle, or math problem, and Gil always makes sure he puts it together correctly.

 

The fly larvae leave their subtle signs, and Gil knows how to read them.  To some flies might be pests and annoyances.  To Gil, they are his crime fighting buddies.  They’ve proven themselves dependable as any police dog on numerous occasions, always leading him straight to the killer.


	6. Cockroach Racing

Not many people can appreciate the graceful beauty of a cockroach. The streamlined oval shaped body perfectly poised on bent legs. It is aerodynamically shaped. Made for speed. Internally the Cockroach is hard-wired with secondary “brains” at every leg. The slightest movement of air against a leg can cause the roach to take off in a fraction of a second, since the signal only has to travel to a secondary brain and not waste time going all the way to the head. 

All these facts make cockroach racing way more exciting than NASCAR or horseracing. At least, that is what Gil thinks. He can usually pick the winner out with a practiced eye before the race starts.

There is excitement and shouting. The fast moving, nimble insects are the center of attention. Gil does not like crowds, but he does like that the insects are the center of so much attention.

Cockroaches come in so many colors and designs that they put any horse or car to shame. Green, gold, brown, tan, mahogany, striped, black, red, white, death’s head. Some can fly, others make a hissing sound when disturbed.

Cockroaches will eat just about anything. Gil usually feeds his roaches dog or cat food. He drops the food in the terrarium and watches as one approaches. Sometimes Gil tries feeding his pets different food, just to see if they enjoy certain foods more. 

Even if you hold a cockroach up vertically, it will still eat if the food is pressed to its mouthparts. The action is instinctual. Sara might frown a little when Gil does this at the dinner table. But she understands, most of the time.

Cockroaches can be kept in small places, like the drawer of an office desk.

When the paper work gets to be too much, he pulls the container of roaches out of his drawer. Gil picks a large female up gingerly between his index finger and thumb, careful not to frighten her. He sets her down behind the signature line. She starts out, uncertain at first, antennae raised as if questioning her sudden freedom. Gil gently brushes a back tarsal claw with the tip of a pen, and the cockroach responds by darting out across the paper, towards the date at the top. Finish line. 

He continues to race his cockroaches throughout the day, whenever the paperwork gets too boring. 

Gil wonders briefly if some higher up manager will guess the real reason the edge of page 22 is slightly chewed.


	7. Silk

Sara runs her hands along the edge of the fabric.  It is soft, sensual, with a smoothness that makes her keep running one finger back along the edge of the blouse.  She idly thinks that she doesn’t own anything made of silk yet.  It is expensive, but maybe just this one thing. It is red and form fitting, and she wonders how it would feel against the skin on her torso.  Or how it would feel if Gil was running his hands along the fabric…

 

“Gil,” she calls, trying to get his attention.

 

He walks over at looks at her.

 

“Look at this,” she says, and runs his hand over the fabric.

 

“Silk?”  he asks with a slightly raised eyebrow.

 

“Do you think…” she suggests.  She doesn’t have to finish, because Gil will know what she is thinking.  They are Christmas shopping after all.

 

“As long as you don’t mind where it comes from,”  Gil says.

 

That makes Sara think.  Of course she knows where silk comes from.  “Silk worms made it.”

 

“They have to boil the silk worm pupae alive,”  Gil adds.

 

She had forgotten about that part.  “Couldn’t they just use the cocoons after they emerge?”  Sara asks with a frown.

 

“There’s one continuous strand of silk,” Gil explains. “If the moth emerges, the strand gets broken into a lot of pieces and isn’t usable.”

 

“You think I shouldn’t get it then?”  she asks.

 

“As long as you can appreciate where it comes from, I don’t mind,”  Gil says.  “It’s not wasteful, since the dead pupae are used to make roasted silk worm pupae and silk worm soup.”

 

“Eww.  That’s gross.”

 

“Not in Korea,”  Gil responds.  “It’s a delicacy there.”

 

And then Gil walks off to look at some fishing lures.

 

Sara is left with the blouse in her hand and a dilemma.  She runs her hand along the fabric again, imagining what it would feel like…

 

But what she imagines this time is very different.  She can’t help it. Her find is filled with thousands of silk worm pupae as they meet their watery demise.  Boiled alive, they feebly move their partially formed legs in a silent supplication.  Are they capable of feeling pain?  Nobody knows for sure.  Every casing became a coffin with a dead pupa pressed up against the thread.  Then it was unwound, and the thread sent off to be made into this fabric.  The pupae were sent off to be made into silk worm soup.

 

Can she enjoy the piece of fabric now that she knows the full history of its grotesque origins?

 

Sara puts the blouse back on the rack, and wonders darkly if it really would have been better not to know.  But she also understands Gil.  And that is what matters most.

 


End file.
